Therapy Session
by GirlquinndreameR
Summary: The least she could do is send me a bat bogey hex, you know? Some sort of sign that she cared…” Sometimes, Draco just needs to vent about that little redhead to someone...DG and BH


Therapy Session

A Harry Potter one-shot: Draco/Ginny with a side of femme Blaise/Harry

Author's Note: Yes, all, I'm well aware of certain things. Such as Draco's behavior: it's very un-Malfoy. And I made Blaise a female for my purposes. After all, this is just fandom and not meant to be taken seriously. All flames will be used to ignite the bonfire for my sister's "I Hate _The Awakening_" celebration.

* * *

Draco lied with his back on the black leather couch, hands folded at his stomach. His robes were hung unceremoniously over the armrest his head laid upon. His ankles were crossed, with his Italian-leather shoe-covered feet dangling over the edge of the opposite armrest. I sat in the matching high-back armchair, legs crossed, elbow on the right armrest, with my hand pillowing my chin.

"And do you know what she did?" he shook his head.

"No," I said, positively not interested.

"She WALKED AWAY," he exclaimed, completely scandalized.

"She didn't," I feigned interest.

"Yes, oh yes, she did. Just brushed past me," he said, adding a hand movement over his body for effect, "like I wasn't even there. Like I didn't matter."

"That's really a shame, Drake," I told him.

He let out a deep grunt of disgust. "Like I don't know it! She just strutted right passed me without another glance. Here I am, showering her with insults, attention really, and she just prances off. Not even a death glare, nothing! The least she could do is send me a bat bogey hex, you know? Some sort of sign that she cared…" he frowned, crossing his arms like a disappointed and hurt child.

I've heard this sad song before. It started last year, when he first received a curse due to the femme Weasley. Ever since then… well, he hasn't been the same. I have not gone a week without Dear Drake's "Woe-is-me-Weaselette-doesn't-love-me" tirade. Fifty-two bloody weeks, and you would think a person would get sick of it. Well, I have.

"How do you do it, Blaise?" Draco asked me. "How can you go about your daily life without insulting Sodding Potter at least once?"

"Just because I have the jones for Potter, doesn't mean I need to insult him in order for my day to feel complete."

"But you don't even talk to him, much less hex him!"

"I doubt a good curse to make him have a 24-hour wedgie will put me in his good graces," I huffed. One of the few things Drake and I share: we both harbor love for Gryffindors. In my case, the most Gryffindor of all: Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, reluctant poster-boy for all that is right and true, and Dumbledore's Man through and through.

"How else will he know that you fancy him?"

"He won't know. I'll just sit in silence, brooding in my own sort of solitude."

He tisked at me. "You won't go anywhere that way."

"You're one to talk," I muttered.

"I would go positively crazy if I was denied Ginevra's attention," he said, eyes dreamily vacant like that one Loony Lovegood.

"Just like how you were earlier, when she just WALKED AWAY," I reminded tartly.

Urgh, I shouldn't have done that. The moment those words came out of my mouth, he released a frustrated noise, sounding quite like the groans and cries of a dying giraffe. At least, what I imagine it to sound like…

"Do you realize just how ugly Weasel King is!" Draco suddenly burst, throwing a fist against the couch cushion before returning to his former position.

My eyebrows furrowed. Why were we talking about him? Weren't we talking about his sister moments ago?

"Like his freckles! Dear god, it was as if a ball of dirt exploded in his face!"

"Femme Weasley has freckles," I pointed out.

"That's different! Her freckles look like lovely little cinnamon sprinkles on that button nose," he adorned that vacant Loony expression again. "I like her, therefore I like cinnamon in my hot chocolate."

I pulled my hand away from my face. That made absolutely no sense. "You never liked cinnamon be--."

"I do now," he interrupted. Draco sighed again, all the while moving one hand to cradle his head.

"As much as I love talking to you, Drake, has it ever occurred to you to perhaps tell her this and not me?"

"What? Tell her I have a new found fixation with cinnamon?"

Since when did he get so daft like Weasel King? "That," I nodded, "and perhaps telling her how you feel for her?"

He gave me perhaps the most disgusted look to ever cross his face. Disbelief, fear, anger and scandal crossed his eyes. "I—what--," for a few moments, he couldn't form words until he stood from the couch, with an index finger in the direction of the door. "How dare you suggest such a—Get out of my room!"

"What in blazes—We're in the Slytherin Common Room!" I retorted.

"Then I shall leave!" he took a step forward before taking a step back and sitting down. "You know, she's not even that cute."

I thought he was leaving. Typical Draco. Once he starts thinking of her, his whole mind was in disarray. I switched legs. "Uh-huh." I highly doubt that was his real opinion.

"Seriously! I'm Draco Louis Malfoy, the finest bloke to ever walk Hogwarts' grounds. You would think I would date, I don't know… a supermodel type. With big ones," he said, holding his palms out in front of his chest. "Not obscenely big, but… well, like your type. If I didn't know you since we were in diapers, you and I would have been an ideal match."

"Ew."

"Precisely. But _her._ She doesn't really have much except for very big hips. With only a pair of B-cups and 38-inch hips, you would think I wouldn't find her attractive at all. But good lord, she's like a sexy little vixen to me!" Draco admitted, scratching his chin, his ears turning different shades of pink. His own version of blushing, I might add.

"38-inch?" I asked. How on earth did he know her hips were a 38?

"Just a guesstimate."

"I see."

"You know what else really pushes me off my rocker? Why can't she call me by name?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want her to call me 'Draco'. You call me 'Drake' or 'Draco'. Why can't she? For two people to call each other by first name, doesn't that mean they're, how do I say, close?"

"Our closeness is different; I know you wet your bed until you were six. That gives me license to call you by first name."

His eyes widened and looked around, alarmed, before returning his gaze to me. "You won't tell her that, will you?"

"I'll take it with me to the grave," I promised him.

He sighed in relief.

"Why is calling you by first name so important?"

"Because it's a line of closeness, dare I say, intimacy? If she calls me 'Draco', then I can call her 'Sweets', we'll get married, have 11 pink-haired children, six boys and five girls of course, a family of Yorkshire terriers, all living happily in one of the Malfoy estates!"

I couldn't take it anymore. Sitting here, hearing him complain and whine pulled me to my wits' end. Without a word, I stood and headed for the entrance.

"Where are you going?" I heard him call from behind me.

I turned on my heels. "To tell 'Sodding' Potter that I'm positively in love with him. Because if you are any indication as to what happens to a person who keeps their feelings a secret…" just the thought of myself cracking into insanity just as Drake did made me absolutely sick, "…then Merlin help me."

And with that as my final word, I left the Slytherin Common Room in search for my sanity… and Potter.

_…el fin._


End file.
